“Not right now,” I say.
“Okay,” Jacob responds softly.
We look out at the view for a few more minutes, both of us silent, and then we head back to the car. We’re quiet on the short walk back, the only noise the wind whistling around us, playing with my bangs, ruffling them out of shape.
I adjust them in the reflection of the car window, hesitating between the passenger seat and the back.
I don’t want to sit opposite from my father right now. I don’t even want to go back to being in the same car, but I don’t have another choice.
Jacob’s hand reaches for the door to the back seat, and my stomach sinks for a moment, until he places his other hand on my shoulder. He maneuvers me toward the door, but before he opens it for me, he bends his head, his lips close to my ear.
“Yes,” he says.
I turn, so close I can feel his breath on my forehead. “What?”
“Yes,” he says. “For tonight. Yes.”
And before I can respond, he’s pulled the door open, helping me inside.
21
I catch my father watching me in the rearview window a couple times, but Jacob keeps him occupied, engaging him in conversation, picking up on any lulls and not allowing for any breaks.
I’m grateful for it. It allows me to disengage, to stare out the window mindlessly until the green landscape turns into blue, the ocean stretching out in front of me as we cross a long bridge.
“We made it,” Jacob says, turning back with a grin. “We’re in Skye.”
I return his smile, even as my gut twists.
I don’t know what to say to Maggie when I see her. And I don’t know what she plans to say to my dad.
My father, at least, seems to have forgotten our little confrontation. He’s no longer looking back at me. His fingers are tapping at the steering wheel, and his eyes are fixed on the road.
There’s tension in his posture, and he grows quiet as we near the hotel.
He enters the parking lot, but even after he finds a spot and cuts the engine, he stays seated.
Jacob and I exchange a glance.
“It’ll be fine, Uncle,” he says, placing a hand on his arm, and after a second, my father nods, undoing his seat belt.
Jacob gets down from the car and comes back to open my door. A gesture my father is too distracted to notice.
“Are you okay?” Jacob asks me as I climb out.
His eyes are soft, concerned, and it’s so strange, feeling cared for in this way. Being invited into that circle of protection that until now I’ve only seen him extend to my father and Maggie.
“I am.” I look over at my father, who was several feet in front of us, walking quickly into the hotel.
“I think I’m doing better than he is, anyway,” I say.
Jacob blows out a breath. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s a bit tense. Understandably so.”
We trail after my father, following him through the parking lot.
“And you?” I ask him. “What we talked about this morning—how are you feeling?”
He lifts a shoulder, but the movement is strained. “I’ll have to accept whatever they decide, won’t I?”
